


The Truths You Seek

by LaShaRa



Series: Snapshots [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Chivalrous Vampires, Excessive Drinking, Implied Smut, Magic, Mention Of Supernatural Creatures, Multi, Rip Hunter Gets Eaten, Vampire AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:24:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9447422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaShaRa/pseuds/LaShaRa
Summary: In which Sara attempts to drown her sorrows, runs into the right type of men in very nice suits, and maybe realizes a few things about her girlfriend. Also, Mick breaks beds and Len makes weird interior decorating choices.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s possible that Sara’s just a little bit drunk .

However, the fact that she can reach this conclusion all on her own means she’s nowhere near as drunk as she’d love to be right now.

She signals to the bartender, who nods to indicate that he’s seen her, then slumps back onto her stool. She doesn’t want to be here, wearing heels sharp enough to slit throats with and a dress that’s far too short for this kind of bar. She wants to be home, sipping red wine on the couch with Nyssa and watching the fireplace warm the dark room. That was the whole point of her damn near breaking her father’s heart and sorely bruising her sister’s by leaving Starling behind and following Nyssa to Central, which was far away enough from Nyssa’s past and Sara’s mistakes to be neutral ground – home ground – for both of them. But it’s yet another of Nyssa’s dark-eyed days, the third in two weeks, and it’s weighing heavily on Sara. 

Sure, she knew what she was getting into. When they’d first graduated from friends with benefits to something more, Nyssa had warned her that there’d be days when she couldn’t be around other people, not even Sara, days when she needed to disappear, for her own sake and everyone else’s. Sara had been confused, but she hadn’t had a problem with it; everyone had their quirks. She’d brought her old blue plush shark to Central with her, and she still cuddles it when she’s had a bad day, if Nyssa’s not available. But these days it seems like Nyssa’s eyes are always dark, like she can’t stand to get away from Sara, and what hurts the most is that she seems fine with being around everyone else. Sara’s not proud of having stalked her girlfriend – where Nyssa’s father taught her about power and control, her own father taught her about privacy – but she had to know. There’d been a hollow, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she watched Nyssa enter what could only be – judging from the attire of the patrons alone – a strip club. Nyssa’s always been by far the more reserved when it comes to sex, something Sara attributed to her upbringing, but it isn’t the fact that she’s apparently not reserved any longer that Sara can’t stand; it’s the fact that Nyssa’s chosen to explore this new side of herself by deceiving Sara, in the company of strangers, outside their relationship. 

Sara’s always been the unbreakable one when it comes to love; the only thing she and her father rally together in is to protect Laurel from her own heart and the people who take advantage of it. But this hurts. It hurt a hell of a lot.

Which brings her back to her current mission: getting so incredibly hammered that the bartender will have to call her a cab to the nearest hotel, because no way is she going back to their apartment tonight.

She’s just downed her third shot when a voice rumbles behind her. “Now that’s what I like to see. A woman who can hold her liquor.”

The only reason she doesn’t empty her new glass over the guy’s head on reflex is because he used the word, “woman,” and not girl or chick or babe or any other belittling noun. Sara swivels on her stool, congratulates herself on not falling off, and looks up. Her jaw drops.

The guy leaning against the bar next to her is dressed like all the other men in the bar, black suit, black tie, but none of them fill it out at the shoulders quite so well, or have a face so dangerously rugged. His eyes are so dark she can’t make out what colour they are, but they make her think of Nyssa and the menace that used to lurk behind her eyes, although the vibes this man is sending off are less subtly threats and more like a hundred grenades about to go off at once. He grins at her like he knows what she’s thinking and in the low light of the bar his teeth are sharp behind crimson lips. “See something you like?”

“Possibly,” Sara drawls, with a confidence she’s not entirely sure she feels. “Although another drink sure would help me make up my mind.”

He grins and signals the bartender. “It seems to me that’s an unlikely outcome, but I’m not one to argue with a lady. ‘Specially one who looks as bitter as you do.”

“You think I’m bitter?” Sara says, raising both eyebrows, although even as she speaks she knows that he used the right word. She is bitter. She’s been bitter for weeks.

“That I do,” he says. “And you came in here to drown in your sorrows. But from what I can tell you’re going to need a hell of a lot more to drink before you forget a woman like that one.”

Sara stiffens. He chuckles. “Relax. Nothing sinister going on here, I just have a knack for figuring people out. The name’s Mick.”

A name doesn’t mean anything, Sara’s visited Laurel at work enough to know that, but she gives him a smile, because he’s pretty massive, sticks out her hand, and gives him the fake name she and Laurel use in just such situations. “Canary. Nice to meet an intuitive guy for once. You’re obviously not from around here.”

Again with that shark’s grin. “I’m from a lot of places, Canary. Tonight I’m from Central. Anyway, enough about me. Any plans this evening?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” hums Sara. “Drink a few drinks, dance a few dances, see if I can find some interesting company…”

Mick’s dark eyes lock onto hers. “Could be arranged.”

By the time Sara’s as far into hair-down, heels-off territory as this particular bar will allow, she has to admit that she’s having a damn good time. Mick’s excellent company; he’s strong and graceful on the dance floor and seems to be immune to the effects of alcohol, although he alternates Sara’s drinks with water like clockwork. Sara’s warm now, and a little hazy, and when she thinks about Nyssa it doesn’t sting at all, and Mick’s eyes are still dark and amused. “Come on, Canary,” he says as Sara puts her empty glass down on the bar a little too hard. “Let’s go get some air, shall we?”

Drunk as she is, a little bit of steel leaks back into Sara’s blood, and she moves ever so casually out of range of Mick’s arms as she puts on her jacket. Mick, however, leads her straight out the front door and across the street to the lamp-lit pavement on the other side, keeping out of the shadows. He stops at a stretch of railing overlooking a tiny park, well in sight of the bar and the surrounding boutiques and restaurants, which are still open despite the late hour, and Sara relaxes again. Mick grins at her, and Sara can’t help stretching up on her toes, one hand on the lapel of his jacket for balance, and something flares in Mick’s eyes, something that tells her both to turn around while she still can but reels her in like a very tipsy moth around a red-hot flame at the same time – 

“Mick,” clips a cold voice from somewhere behind them.

Sara spins around, loses her balance, and stumbles back into Mick, who catches her by the waist. The new guy looks a hell of a lot like Mick – black suit, black tie, close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair – but his lips are an even deeper shade of carmine and his eyes – his eyes are a new shade of dark, emanating more danger than even Nyssa could manage, hinting at knives in spines and teeth in bloody water and the slow ice of poison.

Of course, Sara wants him immediately.

“Hey, Lenny,” rumbles Mick, with a wild, toothy grin. “You’re just in time to join the party.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to postpone your celebration to another night, Mick. We’ve got plans.”

Sara’s forgotten what it looks like when a fully grown and exceedingly delectable man – or woman, Nyssa’s never done it in her life - pouts. “Come on, Lenny,” wheedles Mick, dropping his chin onto Sara’s shoulder. “Canary here’s a lot of fun.”

Lenny runs his eyes over Sara’s form, something a little hungry in his expression, and she finds, with a pleasant shudder, that she enjoys it. “As delightful as I’m sure Miss Lance’s company would be, we really should be going, Mick. Whatever the two of you had planned…I can assure you it wouldn’t end well for any of us. Of course, Miss Lance, we’d be happy to see you safely to a hotel of your choice, since you won’t be returning home tonight.”

Sara barely notices Mick releasing her waist; sirens and bells and voices that sound a lot like her father and sister are suddenly screaming in her head, because even in her inebriated state she knows that ‘Lenny’ wasn’t around when she and Mick talked about Nyssa, and that she definitely didn’t tell either of them her real name. She turns to Mick, intent on asking him just who the hell this guy is.

Mick’s not there. He’s not on the pavement, he’s not crossing the street, he’s not turning into the park. He’s just gone.

Sara whirls and suddenly Lenny is right there behind her, his eyes flat black. Sara gasps, and tries to fling herself backwards, but it’s like she’s frozen in place; the street and the pavement and the lights are pulling away from her. She remembers thinking that up close Lenny has a widow’s peak that could cut glass, that his eyes look exactly the same as Nyssa’s did just before she walked out of the apartment this evening, and then she remembers nothing at all.

_

“Did you really have to do that, Lenny?”

“I’m sorry, Mick, but it was out of the question.”

“Damn shame. Girl was fun. Not the type to take any bullshit. You two would’ve gotten along fine.”

“I’m sure we would have, but with a mate like hers, it would have been suicide to do it. She’d have torn us limb from limb.”

“For sleeping with her mate or letting her in on the truth?”

“Both.”

“She’s gotta find out sooner or later, though, smart one like that.”

“Sooner rather than later, I think. Her mate hasn’t made the transition as smoothly as we have, for all that she is the Heir to the Demon.”

“Now, now, Lenny. Just because you’ve got a five hundred year head start and know how to read minds doesn’t mean you get to make fun of the fledglings.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re a fledgling yourself.”

“I can still kick your ass, Len.”

“I rather hoped you had better plans for my ass than that, Mick.”

Mick laughs. Len smiles at him from where he’s lounging in bed, happy and sated. There are few things better than following up a nice long feed with an even longer tumble under the coffin lid with his partner of three hundred odd years. Speaking of which… “Mick, you owe me a new bed. Again.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining when I broke it.”

“You were distracting me. I want compensation now.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, Snart.”

“True, but I think I was a pain in your neck first and foremost,” Len hums. Mick groans. He can’t imagine why; after all, Len’s teeth in his throat was the only way he was able to join him in this life. “I’m thinking we could go with cashmere lining this time.”

“Fucking hell, Lenny,” says Mick, finally putting down the cloak he’s been examining for the last five minutes and making his way over. “Next thing I know you’ll be telling me you think it should be violet or turquoise or some other godawful colour.”

“Actually-”

Mick dumps himself down next to him, careful to avoid the jagged crack in the side of the coffin and kisses him, his fangs slotting neatly next to Len’s. Len abandons his interior decorating schemes for the time being and kisses him back for a full minute until a wave of metal sweeps across his tongue. He pulls back, wrinkling his nose. “You still taste like Hunter, Mick.”

“Whatever, he was fun to kill. And I like his cloak. Thing looks like it’ll repel just about anything.”

“That’ll be useful next time we go hunting.”

“Hell no, I’m not stinking that beauty up with werewolf blood,” exclaims Mick, his tone scathing. “Hunter’s already treated it like a travelling cloak instead of a magical shield far too much as it is.”

Len grins. He loves how in awe of anything even remotely magical Mick is; although, when a dragon burns down the house of your abusive parents for you fifteen years before you’ve even been turned, you probably do get a little attached. “I wonder if Sara Lance’ll join us anytime soon,” he muses.

“Don’t think so,” says Mick, burying his face in the crook of Len’s neck and inhaling. “From what you’ve told me about her mate, she’s not going to want to turn her until Ra’s is dead, and that bastard is a tough one. Besides…”

Len tries to sit up, discovers that it puts him in danger of rolling out of the coffin and decides it isn’t worth it. “You felt something? She seemed about as human as they come to me…”

“Which is why I became the clairvoyant instead of the mind-reader,” says Mick. “Banshee or phoenix, not sure which, or if it’s both, but whatever it is, it’s coming soon.”

“We could use a phoenix around here,” muses Len. “I wonder if Nyssa will share?”

“Didn’t seem the sharing type to me,” chuckles Mick. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” says Len, arching just up out of reach and smirking as Mick’s chuckle turns into a growl. “I can be very persuasive…”

-

Sara wakes up slowly, the way she always does when they sleep over at one of the mansions Nyssa’s family owns just outside Central. She normally kicks up a fuss when Nyssa suggests they go there to get away from it all for a bit, because she always feels like Nyssa’s father, who she still persists in calling the demon, would never spend that much on his supposedly estranged daughter unless he had some ulterior motive. Still, once she’s there, she doesn’t complain too much, because not even Oliver Queen had sheets this nice on his bed and those were emerald green.

She reaches out a hand for Nyssa and it lands on a pillow. It takes another minute or so for Sara to get it, and then she’s flinging herself out of bed, the previous night’s events flooding back to her, because Nyssa, woman of mystery that she is, doesn’t believe in pillows.

Too late she remembers the drinking, and braces for the mother of all hangovers to crash down and obliterate all coherent thought from her mind, but it never comes. That’s…disturbing. She drank enough to put down an elephant. Something’s not right. She looks around her. It’s a hotel suite, no doubt about that, and just about the most luxurious room Sara’s ever set foot in, including that mouthwatering honeymoon suite that Laurel caught her and Oliver sneaking into one time at the Starling Grand. The little gilt-edged envelopes in the stationary set on the table in the living area are printed with the logo of the Palmer Group, and yeah, Sara’s impressed. Anything owned or produced by the Palmer Group, be it mobile phones or electric cars or a luxury suite, most definitely does not come cheap. 

One of the envelopes is lying on the table. Her name is written on it in sloping, elegant script. For the lack of other options, Sara opens it.

Dear Miss Lance,

I trust you have passed a peaceful night, and hope you will take advantage of the fact that your stay at The Palmer Hotel has been paid for until tomorrow morning. I apologize for any inconvenience or confusion that Mick and I may have caused you, but I'm afraid it was simply impossible for us to stay without inciting very grave consequences for all of us. Please know that under different circumstances Mick and I would have been honored to spend the night in your company. I hope we will be lucky enough to meet again someday. Until then I hope that the truths you seek will be revealed to you.

Yours faithfully,

Leonard and Mick.

Sara blinks. She reads the letter, blinks again and exclaims, "Well, fuck." What the hell happened last night? She knows, without knowing how she knows, that she wasn’t taken advantage of – in fact, considering that she should logically be on the phone begging room service to bring up some aspirins and a Bloody Mary right now, she feels fantastic. She just doesn’t understand how, or why Leonard – she knew he wasn’t a Lenny – and Mick put her up at Central’s finest for two nights for no apparent reason. If they hadn’t stayed the night – and it’s pretty obvious that she’s the only one who’s slept in the bed – then surely it wasn’t because she’d let on to Mick that she didn’t want to go home to Nyssa? She’s not sure she even mentioned the hotel plan to him, she was enjoying his company so much…and then there’s the little bit about her seeking truths, which is definitely not something she had the mental capacity to mention to Mick.

It’s all so confusing – much more so than the whole Laurel-and-Oliver-and-maybe-Sara fiasco which thrust her towards Nyssa, and that’s saying something. Because she doesn’t want to give herself another headache worrying about this, she decides to go take a shower, and it’s at this point that she realizes that she’s wearing a bathrobe instead of last night’s dress.

So maybe one of them stayed the night?

The bathroom is bigger than the bedroom she used to share with Laurel. On the luggage rack are her dress and heels, and beside them, a smart leather overnight bag. Sara unzips it and stares at the small stack of neatly folded clothes which she can already tell will be in her size. At this point she’s not sure if she’s supremely freaked out or impressed or something else entirely. She just showers, changes into a cute-yet-cleavagey sundress, enjoys a breakfast fit for royalty – because why the hell not? – and gets a cab back to her apartment.

Nyssa’s sleek black motorcycle is in one of the aboveground parking slots. Steeling herself against the little bit of the worry and hurt and maybe defiance that seeps back in – because whatever Nyssa may have got up to in those clubs, Sara’s never come this close to cheating on her – and walks inside, taking the elevator up to their floor. The door to their apartment is open, which means Nyssa’s either as hammered as Sara should rightly be or just got back this minute. A voice that manages to be both refined and loud floats out as Sara walks down the corridor, but that doesn’t mean anything; all of Nyssa’s senses, especially her hearing and her sense of smell, remain eerily superhuman even when she’s inebriated. And then she’s there in the doorway, her eyes locked on Sara’s face, still in the same way-too-much-like-something-Sara-would-wear get-up from yesterday evening. “My beloved, I’ve been looking for you - ”

One minute Nyssa’s in the doorway, the next she’s got Sara pinned against the wall, snarling wordlessly. Her eyes are dark and absolutely enraged and as Sara struggles to breathe, there are two names that keep flashing through her head.

“Who has bedded you?” hisses Nyssa, her nails digging into Sara’ shoulders. “Who took you from me? Tell me!”

Leonard and Mick.

Considering she can’t breathe, Sara knows she didn’t say that out loud, but Nyssa’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second and then she begins to shriek with fury. Voices begin in the nearest apartments and doors fly open down the length of the corridor, and watching something start to spark in Nyssa’s eyes Sara thinks wryly that she really knows how to pick them.

Laurel’s going to kill her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sara eats sharks, Len and Mick nearly destroy Central City and Barry Allen is a badass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, the very belated follow-up. I dunno, it's a little sketchy, and I may have included everything I ever knew or thought I knew about supernatural/ prehistoric beings/magic/the DC universe, but I think it makes sense? (Thus, shapeshifters in this fic are common magical creatures who can be harnessed by another supernatural who then morphs them into whatever animal, mythical or otherwise, which they can correctly imagine). Anyway. It was a lot of fun to write. Shoutout to SaraalGhul, Cathy and Kate, for convincing me way back when Chapter 1 was posted that it needed a follow-up. Hope you like it.

The tiger sharks circle her, dead eyes glinting dully in the light that filters down to the shifting seabed. The occasional tail or fin brushes against her, and one of them even attempts to nudge at her with its snout, to no avail. Its mouth gapes open, revealing rows of jagged teeth; its companions follow suit. Normally, this would be the point where the object of their undivided attention suffered a merciful heart attack out of sheer terror, assuming they hadn’t drowned already, but Sara left normal behind a long time ago. She grins and bares her own teeth. This is going to be fun.

Above her head, on the surface of the water, a wave rises from nowhere. A pair of black eyes watches from the coast, amused.

When Sara explodes out of the ocean in a spray of white water a little under fifteen minutes later, the sun is blazing overhead, striking the luminous blue water in diamond sparks. Sara tears around in circles for a few minutes, occasionally doing a little jump, partly to dampen the adrenaline still thundering through her and partly to get all the blood out of her hair, before flipping herself over and heading straight for shore. She skips onto the beach and dances her way up the warm sand to the mangroves at the crest of the dunes. A little blood trickles down her chin and she hastily licks it off.

Nyssa is lounging in the sand with her arms folded under her head in a rare fit of indulgent relaxation. Despite the gnarled shade of the mangroves, her pale skin has turned the warm gold of melted cheese. Sara approves, so much so that she simply can't resist swooping down and kissing Nyssa flush on the lips.

She's on her back in the sand before she can blink. Nyssa snarls above her for a full three seconds before her eyes slide from black to less black and settle into an expression of fond exasperation. "I desire that you cease to perform that particular maneuver, my beloved."

"And I desire to keep doing it, sweetheart," drawls Sara, sitting upright as Nyssa rolls off her and settles back down in the sand. She licks her lips and then grimaces horribly as she tastes the remains of Sara’s brunch; Sara smirks. "You have neither shame nor taste, Sara."

"You love me anyway," sings Sara. Admittedly, shark flesh is particularly strong-tasting, what with all the currents of violence and bloodshed running through it, but that's precisely why Sara loves it so much. It reminds her of herself, and the way she’s never felt more alive than she does now. Nyssa, on the other hand, tends to avoid seafood altogether in terms of delicacies; she prefers prey that pose more of a challenge, peregrine falcons, antelope, coyotes, graceful creatures like herself. Sara still hasn’t given up the idea of introducing Nyssa to a mako shark hunt.

Nyssa shakes her head amusedly as Sara sits down beside her. “I trust we can spend a few more hours on the beach, then?”

“Hell no, I need to eat.” Seven tiger sharks does not a luncheon make.

“My beloved, your appetite certainly continues to be…something else.”

“Hey, no judgment! Everyone’s always hungry when they’re my age, even you, heiress. Talia’s told me some stories…”

“My venerable sister tends to embellish the truth,” Nyssa says peacefully. “Well, if you insist on eating, there’s a settlement of human traffickers just a little way up the beach, and I’ll say this for them, they eat well. We might dine there, return to the resort for dessert…”

Sara grins toothily at her and gets up to find their sarongs. Even here, on Makena beach, Maui, the darker strains of human nature persist. Which is fine by Sara. If it weren’t for the human traffickers and drug dealers and would-be murderers of the world, she’d be on a constant shark diet as opposed to starchy, languid tourists, and then Nyssa would refuse to sleep with her and that would just be wrong. So if ridding the world of human predators improves her chances in the bedroom – well, Sara can’t wait to get going.

They’re getting ready for dinner that night when Sara’s mobile starts ringing from the depths of their suitcase. Nyssa refused to bring hers – it was only with great difficulty and possibly a few meaty sacrifices that Sara had convinced her to buy one at all – but Sara refuses to give up access to her Instagram feed. The hilarious posts put up by one Felicity Smoak on her How To Train Your Vampire account are to die for, not least because they involve one Oliver Queen in various positions of embarrassment and discomfort. (Laurel’s a big fan; the clarity she gained following her entry into what Thea Queen likes to call the FangsFatales Club has greatly improved her sense of humour). The caller, however, isn’t one Sara expected to be awake at this time in the US, but one she welcomes nonetheless.

“Lisey!” she purrs on answering the call, just to hear Nyssa growl into her powder compact, because sometimes Sara’s a contrary little brat who loves annoying her vampire fiancée. “How delightful to hear from you.”

“Aw, I’m touched, honey, truly,” coos Lisa Snart. “Now tell her majesty to stop melting your phone with the power of her mind.”

Nyssa is muttering in Arabic – Sara, who’s learning, catches a few words, “murder” “burn” “audacity” and smiles fondly. “So, Lise, why’re you interrupting my tropical getaway?”

“I need some help.” The words carry through as somewhere between annoyed and bored, which is as close as Lisa can get to apologetic.

“I’m not kidnapping Caitlyn for you again, Lisa, you can manage that just fine by yourself.”

“Caitlyn’s fine,” huffs Lisa. Aw. Her tone turns smug. “Caitlyn’s great, actually.” And no, ew, Sara doesn’t need to know that. “It’s Len. And Mick. And Len-and-Mick.”

“Really?” Sara eyes the bathroom, from which all curses and threats of death most violent have suddenly ceased. “What did they do this time?”

“I’m not too sure – I think Mick stole another dragon, only this time it wiped out half of Len’s little shape-shifter settlement, as well as pissing off some kind of speed-demon-beastie, and then Len had to trade most of the rest of his shape-shifters, and he got into a huge fight over Barry, and it’s really just a huge clusterfuck and I need some back up.”

“Can’t we just let them stew for a while?” tries Sara, because she knows where this is going. “See if they sort it out on their own?”

“Nothing I’d love better, but you know Mick and Cisco haven’t had a break from the visions for a while -”

“The ones with the world-eaters?”

“Yeah, those. I really wouldn’t ask, Sara, but it’s not a great time for them to go off the rails, and we’re running low on influencers here.”

“This is what you get for letting a couple of vampire vagabonds/ bounty hunters take over the most supernaturally charged city in North America,” grouses Sara, partly to Lisa, partly in the direction of the bathroom. It’s kind of true; if Nyssa hadn’t refused to assume control of her share of Ra’s’ territories upon his murder, then Sara, in her quest to find someone willing to duel Talia within the next 24 hours in exchange for the position – seriously, Nyssa had some seriously strange family traditions – might not have made some very hasty decisions, namely nominating the two smoking hot men and also vampires whom she’d almost slept with six months before her turning. Not, you know, that she wasn’t grateful that Nyssa didn’t have an entire city to run, just a few nice territories, like Hawaii, or Alaska, but still.

“So you’ll come?”

“I’ll have to talk to Nyssa. If we decide to come, be at the old docks by, say, six, won’t you?”

“Did you steal Ray Palmer’s private jet again, Sara?”

Sara smirks. “No…but my fiancée can summon sea serpents.”

“I am so jealous. Hey, Valentine’s is coming up – I don’t suppose you can convince Nyssa to get the stick out of her ass long enough to loan it to me and Cait?”

“I’ll tell her you asked,” says Sara cheerfully, and cuts Lisa’s yowl off by ending the call. She knows without turning around that Nyssa is standing behind her. “So,” she begins.

“We must go.”

Sara turns around. Nyssa is looking out of the open French windows, towards the ocean. “Despite the…feelings I harbor towards Leonard and Michael, it would be unwise to permit such chaos to reign in Central. Although the territory is not mine, Talia will still expect me to keep watch over those who carry on our bloodlines, as well she should.”

“Babe, is that your way of saying that you’re dying to knock some sense into their heads, too?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a matter of life and death, exactly.”

Sara groans, but says nothing. She can’t complain about Nyssa’s tendancy to take everything literally if she wants the sea serpent to not eat her. And besides, despite her flippancy, she knows what it costs Nyssa to be civil, let alone helpful, towards Mick, Len and their kindred. Rulers of Central or not, vampires, particularly those from Ra’s’ bloodline, can hold grudges for centuries, and Nyssa’s never forgotten the morning when Sara came home smelling of two creatures she was never supposed to know about. 

-

“Nyssa – let – me – go!”

Nyssa doesn’t even seem to hear her. Her eyes are blacker than Sara’s ever seen them, her pupils so wide they’ve almost blocked out the whites of her eyes. Sara wonders briefly if, against all odds, her girlfriend’s on drugs. “What the hell, Nyssa, you need to calm the fuck down-”

Nyssa throws her head back and lets out the kind of shriek Sara didn’t think humans were capable of making. So definitely no calming down, then. Sara struggles, but it’s pointless even trying; Nyssa’s hands on her shoulders are like iron. Sara’s bracing herself to execute one of the more violent self-defence moves her father taught her when Nyssa abruptly glances behind her. Several of their neighbours are peering around their open doors; a few of them are holding phones. Nyssa narrows her eyes before turning and dragging Sara into their apartment. Sara tries to smile in a way that might convince them not to call the police, but between the snarling Nyssa’s still doing and the way her own heels are leaving drag marks on the carpet, she doesn’t hold out much hope. 

The next minute she’s been half-pushed, half-thrown to the couch across the room, while Nyssa turns to lock the door. When she turns back Sara’s got one foot out the open balcony door. Nyssa could give a Thompson’s gazelle the run of its life, but Sara’s hoping she can make it halfway down the fire escape and drop the rest of the way. It sounds a little extreme, sure, Sara’s never been one to run, but she feels like this situation qualifies as extreme. 

“Who has bedded you?” snarls Nyssa, advancing on her. 

“Are you seriously accusing me of cheating right now? Looking like that?”

Nyssa blinks, looking down at her outfit. “What…”

Sara’s getting that headache now. “Nyssa, you look like a hooker!” she yells, not caring who hears her and gesturing towards Nyssa’s low cut leather corset, tight leather and lace pants and spiked heels with crimson insoles. Through the open bedroom door, she spies the feathered slouch hat and the velvet cape strewn across their bed, and well, doesn’t that just take the cake. “You look like a hooker that got some, and what’s worse is, I know you did,” she adds ruthlessly. “So don’t give me that crap about being bedded by people, because you’ve got nothing.”

A little of the black leaks out of Nyssa’s eyes. “Sara – you don’t possibly believe that I – was unfaithful to you…”

“Hell yeah that’s what I believe! Nyssa, I. Saw. You. At that club yesterday! And for all I know you’ve been going there god knows how many nights in the last three weeks. Look, I could deal with you needing your space and your privacy from time to time, but if what you really meant was that you needed to go off to sex clubs - ”

Nyssa surges forwards. “Sara, it’s not what you think - ”

“Then explain it to me, dammit!”

“Sara…” Nyssa stops in the middle of the room, her shoulders low. “That place was not…a sex club. They…had something I needed.”

“Nyssa, what could a place that requires you to dress like that offer you?”

“Blood.”

“Still, that’s no excuse to - ” Sara realizes what she’s just heard and stops short. “What did you just say?”

Nyssa holds up her hand. “Beloved, I beseech you to remain calm…”

Sara stares incredulously at her. “Remain calm? Oh, sure, that’s not hard at all, not when my girlfriend just started talking about needing blood. What the hell’s going on, Nyssa? This doesn’t make any-” 

Nyssa flings her arms out to her sides in desperation; normally, having her girlfriend make such an uncharacteristically spontaneous gesture would worry Sara, but the movement just makes Nyssa’s corset slide a little lower on her chest, and that just gets Sara mad again. She’s about to storm out when Nyssa speaks again. “I’m not…of your world, my beloved,” she says, and she sounds almost miserable. “My kind…we are creatures of the night, we are to be feared, and I will not soon forgive myself for having brought you into our world, and so having drawn others to you - ”

“Nyssa, the next word out of your mouth better not be - ”

“I am raeib, Sara. I was born of the blood-hunters, the shadows, demons.” Mistaking Sara’s “you gotta be fucking kidding me” expression for non-comprehension, she adds, “Vampires.”

Sara cracks up.

“Vampires,” she gasps, sinking down the balcony door to the floor regardless of her new sundress. “Oh, that’s just fucking perfect. Of all the people to medal for the best bullshit story, Nyssa, I never thought it’d be you, but you just swept the board. Vampires – oh my God – you could’ve gone with drugs or hookers or gambling, but no – vampires - ”

At this point Sara gives up on coherent speech; she’s laughing too hard. When she looks up, Nyssa has an expression that’s almost – betrayed? – on her face, and that just cracks Sara up even harder. She’s starting to hiccup, tears streaming down her face, when there’s a snarl, a blur of movement, and the back of her head hits the floor hard. Her vision cuts out for a moment and when it comes back, Nyssa’s leaning over her, but it’s not Nyssa. Her eyes are burning black cavities, her teeth are far longer that they have any right to be, and Sara’s pretty sure the hands gripping her shoulders are going to crush her bones into dust any second now.

“Well, shit,” hiccups Sara, and promptly tries to kick Nyssa in the crotch.

The move almost breaks her toes, but looking back now, she likes to think that Laurel would have been proud of it.

-

“I cannot believe we gave up Makena for this.”

“Need I remind you, Beloved, that this was your venture from the beginning?”

“Can you people please save the couple’s spat for later? We’re having enough trouble dealing with this one,” snaps Lisa. Nyssa growls and Sara sighs. She’s going to have to have that talk about not eating allies very soon. Again. For about the fifth time since Askari swam up to the docks and Lisa promptly declared she didn’t see what all the fuss was about. 

Stopping your vampire girlfriend and her three hundred tonne sea serpent from eating the sister-in-law of the vampire you almost slept with not all that long ago is using up all the peace of mind she gathered back in the tropics. 

But right now she has other problems, namely the fact that the aforementioned vampire is perched on the head of a dragon just a little bigger that the sea-serpent, a dragon who is belching flames left, right, and centre. Opposite him is his husband, at the head of all the remaining shape-shifters in Central City, most of who have morphed into great beasts of various size and deadliness, including a Tyrannosaurus Rex, because Leonard Snart is a fucking nerd.

Oh, and this is all happening smack in the middle of Central City, in broad daylight, which means that once they’ve dealt with these idiots, they’re going to have to brainwash about a million people or so, give or take. 

Sometimes Sara really, really hates her friends.

“I’m gonna fry all you fuckers!” roars Mick. The dragon lets out a bellow of agreement. A hundred yards down the road, Len’s stone face doesn’t change, but two more shapeshifters morph into what look like pterodactyls. From the rooftop they’re perched on, Sara can see the air rippling as a lone shapeshifter struggles to morph some way behind Len’s army. Each shift-shimmer reaches halfway up the nearest skyscraper; Sara really, really hopes Len hasn’t ordered up a dragon of his own, because that’s going to be such a bitch to brainwash away. “Honey, I think that’s our cue,” she tells Nyssa.

Nyssa sighs dramatically – which is really her default setting – and drops gracefully off the side of the building (“Showoff”, mutters Lisa). Both vampire kings of Central pause their theatrics to watch her straighten up, throw back her hood and look from one to the other. “Greetings, Guardians of Central,” and Lisa and Sara snigger in unison, because that will never not be ridiculous. “Sympathetic though I am to the trials of wedded life, I cannot permit you, the peacekeepers of this territory, which as yet remains under the patronage of my bloodline, to lay waste to it in your strife.” Nyssa rests one hand lightly on the hilt of her sword. “Make peace and dismiss your warriors, or your duel will be with me.”

The two vagabonds of Central look at Nyssa for maybe five seconds more, and then Mick’s dragon lets out a jet of flame in Len’s direction, and Len responds by deploying every single winged shapeshifter behind him into the air. 

Sara hasn’t seen Nyssa look this insulted since the epic fail of her “I am vampire” speech.

Although, yeah, this is pretty bad too. 

“I suppose we should go help,” sighs Lisa, walking to the edge of the roof. Sara snorts as she (carefully) swings Len’s (very human, very breakable) sister into her arms. “Well, I should think so. This was your idea.”

They land next to Nyssa just in time to duck as the dragon knocks three of Len’s winged beasties out of the air. Sara lets go of Lisa and storms off towards Mick; being immortal, it’s always better that she handle the vampire with the giant fire-breathing monster. “Oi, you!” she bellows. “Get your ass down off that goddamn volcano, cause I’m about to kick it from here to Honolulu! You’ve already ruined my vacation, destroyed half the business district of Central, and scarred about a million people for life – give it a fucking break already, or I will come up there and make you.”

It’s no “Guardians of Central” but it’s all she’s got.

It’s also not enough, because Mick doesn’t even seem to hear her; he’s egging the dragon forwards, trying to barrel away through Len’s shapeshifter cloud. Lisa doesn’t seem to be having much luck either; Len is hoisting himself up the side of the T-Rex, oblivious to the absolute bitch fit which Lisa is throwing as she struggles towards him. Nyssa looks like she can’t decide who to murder first, and yeah, Sara’s a little worried now. This actually looks like it might get serious. A shiver runs down her spine as she thinks of all the destruction a full blown vampire feud, with other powerful supernaturals hauled into the mix, would be. They don’t need that right now. They don’t need that, ever.

The realization throws her enough that it takes her a full five seconds to notice that someone else has joined the fray and when she does she can’t help but gape. Barry Allen is striding across the tarmac, wearing sweatpants and…nothing else, really. He doesn’t even have shoes on. Given Barry’s overwhelming humanness, Sara’s a little alarmed – there is a dragon advancing down the street, after all – but then some of Len’s shapeshifters get out of the way and she sees a tall, hazel-haired silhouette standing with arms spread wide in the shadows. Caitlyn must be projecting one of her incredibly powerful shields. 

“HEY!” roars Barry, and wow, Sara did not know the kid had a set of lungs like that on him. But oh, look, miracles are real, because Mick stops roaring profanities and Len stops trying to get the T-Rex to charge.

Barry stomps across the tarmac to where Nyssa’s watching him with an expression of absolute disbelief. “First of all, leaving me locked up in a room featuring piles of pizza, no clothes and three dozen throw pillows? Got. Old. Six Months Ago. Second of all, this, right here? This has gone too fucking far.” Barry is jabbing each of his fists at Len and Mick now, both of whom almost exchange panicked looks with each other before remembering that they’re fighting and turning back to Barry, whose voice is, if possible, getting louder. Sara’s impressed. “Now Cisco’s back at the base, strapped down for his own good because his world-eater visions are driving him mad, Felicity just sent me new info on werewolves shipping out of Star City, and you’ve just made sure we have a week of unnecessary clean up.” Barry takes a breath. “Stop your stupid fight and start fixing things, or I swear, I’ll never sleep with either of you ever again.”

“Ever?” blurt out Mick and Len.

“You’ve been sleeping with Barry?” screeches Lisa. A few sabre-toothed tigers scramble out of her way. “For six months? And you didn’t tell me? Leonard Snart, I am going to kill you-”

Sara doubles over laughing. 

Nyssa just sighs. 

“Yes, they have, but they won’t be for much longer,” growls Barry. “And if you even think of using that sex spell you did the first time, Caitlyn will kick the asses of whatever witch you blackmailed from here to Earth 2. So what’s it going to be?”

For a few minutes, they all stare at each other. 

Then Mick wrenches the dragon into the air and Len backs the T-Rex through a building, and they each head off in opposite directions, trailing flames and shapeshifters.

Nyssa throws her sword through a window. Sara’s still laughing. Lisa snarls her way through some straggling shapeshifters and walks up to Barry. “How the fuck did you do that, Allen?”

Barry shrugs. “I’m very, very good in bed?”

Lisa wrinkles her nose. Her expression of distaste only lasts as long as it takes Caitlyn to step out of her shadows after disabling Barry’s shield, upon which she slinks towards her, purring. “Hey, babe. That’s some nice charmwork you deployed there.” She reels Caitlyn in for a kiss. “Think you got enough juice left for a few vibrations?”

“Oh, my God.” Nyssa must be really mad if she’s exclaiming in something other than Arabic. “Do you not have more pressing tasks to complete? Undoing the havoc wrought by your brothers, for instance?”

“Oh, Lenny’ll take care of it, he’s good at clean ups,” says Lisa breezily. “I’m off to exploit my girlfriend’s magic for nefarious purposes.” She intimidates a shapeshifter struggling to morph out of his rhinoceros form into a ride. Caitlyn charms another one to get Barry back to base.

Sara finally picks herself off the ground and goes over to where Nyssa is moodily taking her five knives out of the wall she threw them into. “Hey, cheer up. I’m sorry Barry’s sex skills trumped your intimidation skills, but it had the same result, didn’t it? Len and Mick aren’t going to destroy the city, at least not today.”

Nyssa picks up her sword. “Sometimes I wonder if I am truly the guardian of territories that my bloodline calls upon me to be. If all I became, through the centuries, is a creature of the night stumbling in my own darkness, unable to control…anything. Talia would be proud indeed. ”

Oh. So that’s what this is about.

“Hey, hey.” Sara tilts Nyssa’s chin towards her. “Screw the bloodline, okay? So Central City’s a little more volatile than it was a hundred years ago. So what? It’s what we are, Nyssa. It’s why we’re the supernatural. Witches will work their charms, werewolves will make themselves a nuisance, phrophets will give us crazy visions and vampires will hunt. And Leonard Snart will get shapeshifters to morph into dinosaurs and Mick Rory will try to burn down the world.” And your father was a fool and your sister still is if they ever thought they were going to control any of that, she thinks, but doesn’t say, because Nyssa is loyal to her blood and her dead. “But we’ve got each other. Len, Mick, Barry, Cisco, Lisa, Caitlyn…even Laurel and Felicity and Ollie, we’ve got each other. We keep each other in check. And that’s all we need. Not control, Nyssa. Teamwork.”

Nyssa doesn’t say anything for a bit, but then she looks up and smiles at Sara, and Sara knows that’s as close Nyssa will ever come to admitting she’s wrong.

“Now, speaking of teamwork…what do you say to taking your sea-serpent and repaying Lisa in kind for interrupting our vacation?”

Nyssa smiles the kind of smile that would send sharks fleeing in terror, and that’s why Sara loves her.


End file.
